


Curiosity

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Curiosity, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Naive Sherlock, Teaching, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6697357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things about which John Watson knows more than Sherlock Holmes. One day the detective decides to learn more about one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprising

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. We hope you'll subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.

John leaned through the wall of water, sighing as he let it roll off of his back, leaning against the shower wall. He moved his free hand down the length of his body, gripping his cock and stroking slowly. He hadn't done this for a while. He let his mind wander as he moved his hand, losing the sound of the water as he let himself slip into his fantasy. 

Sherlock was in the kitchen, waiting for his toast to finish. He'd found some marmalade but couldn't locate the butter and that had him quite annoyed. He heard the shower going and moved to the bathroom door, peeking through the crack. He could see John kind of bent over a bit behind the curtain and heard him making unusual noises. He pushed the door open and stepped in. "What are you doing, John?" he asked loudly. "Are you all right?"

"Sherlock! Get out!" John said, his hand moving away from his cock as he stood again. "Get out of here!"

Sherlock didn't like John's voice. It was angry, a serious kind of angry. "I just . . . I was looking for the butter," he mumbled stupidly. He stepped backwards and out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He went back into the kitchen where his toast had burned, so he dumped it in the bin and carried his mug of tea to his desk. He had an odd feeling. It reminded him of when he was a child and had gone just a step too far and knew he'd be in proper trouble when his parents found out. But he didn't understand what he'd done that was so wrong. 

John took a moment to catch his breath, but when he tried to continue he was too distracted, thinking about Sherlock bursting in. What had he been thinking? John finished his shower and got out, drying off and putting on his pajamas before coming out of the bathroom, going straight to the kitchen.

"Don't be cross with me," Sherlock said quickly when John came in.

"Why would you walk into the bathroom while I'm taking a shower?" John asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Because that's where you were and I had to ask you a question," Sherlock said honestly. "What were you doing in there anyway? You sounded hurt or something."

"Just -- don't worry about that. What did you need?" John asked.

Sherlock looked over at John. Why was he keeping a secret? Was he poorly? "John," he said. "Are you all right? What were you doing? You can tell me."

"Sherlock," John said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just -- what did you need?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said, turning back to the desk. "It's fine. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Just . . ." John sighed loudly and rubbed his temple. "Just think hard, for one second. I have to get dressed for work." John took a sip and headed up to his room to change.

Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of that answer. He watched John go upstairs. He followed him. "Was it something to do with work?" he asked him, standing at his bedroom door. 

"No, Sherlock. It wasn't about work," John said.

"Are you ill? Have you hurt yourself?"

"No Sherlock, I'm not ill. I'm not hurt," John said.

"Well, I don't know then," Sherlock said. "Why are you making such a big deal about this? What were you doing?"

"God, you're annoying sometimes," John said. He took another deep breath and looked over at Sherlock. "I was wanking. Are you happy?" 

Sherlock stepped back. "I . . . um, sorry. Fine, sorry," he stuttered, turning and moving back downstairs to his desk. He picked up his tea and took a sip even though it was cold now.

John finished getting dressed and came down stairs again, looking over at Sherlock. "I'll pick up dinner, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Sherlock said, trying to make his voice sound normal. He watched John leave. He felt strange about what had happened this morning, which was annoying because the whole thing had been caused by John forgetting to buy butter.

However, Sherlock was also strangely intrigued by John's admission. Why had he been doing that? Did he do it all the time? Had he been doing it every morning in the shower? Sherlock got up to make himself a fresh cup of tea as he continued to think. Perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised. Obviously, he knew what masturbation was and knew that people did it. But it seemed such a waste of time and energy, an unnecessary surrender to bodily urges when that effort would be better used on more intellectual pursuits. It surprised him that John disagreed. Didn't he get enough of that kind of stuff on his stupid dates? Why would he need to also do it alone and in the morning before work? Sherlock took his cup of tea to his chair this time, sitting down and taking a sip of the hot liquid.

He looked over at John's empty chair. John Watson had changed Sherlock's life in so many ways, and Sherlock knew that despite their differences, John was his friend. In fact, John was the best man Sherlock knew. He was also quite smart. So if John masturbated, perhaps there was more to it than Sherlock had thought.

At work, John's mind was still stuck on the scene at the flat. Sherlock was so nosy. What did it matter what John did by himself in the shower? Why did Sherlock care? John tried to let it go and concentrate.

But back at the flat, Sherlock was still sitting in his chair thinking about John and the mystery of masturbation. Should he be masturbating as well? He wondered what John would advise, but he was pretty sure he shouldn't come straight out and ask -- he'd have to be a little sneakier than that. He found his phone.

_How's work going? SH_

_Fine. A bit busy. -JW_

_What are you getting for dinner? SH_

_I was thinking Chinese. Is there anything else you'd like? -JW_

_No. Chinese is fine. Sorry for bothering you. I just wanted to make sure you were feeling all right. SH_

_There was nothing wrong with me. -JW_

_I didn't say there was. I'm just trying to be nice, John. Don't be like that. SH_

_I'm not being like anything. You know there was nothing to check up on. We talked about this. -JW_

Sherlock frowned.

_Fine. I need to work now. Be nicer by the time you get home. SH_

_You be nicer. -JW_

_Stop bothering me. SH_

Sherlock set his phone down on the table. That was of no help at all. John was still pouting about this morning. Sherlock wondered why. Could his mood be so bad because Sherlock interrupted him? Wait, he thought, is that why John was sometimes in such sour moods? Perhaps John's so-called sweet disposition was because he masturbated everyday. Today he was interrupted from the task and he'd gone all grumpy. Did masturbation make people _nicer_?

Sherlock had never spent much of his time on sex-related issues. Basically he knew all he needed to know on the subject: lust often led to crime and, other than that, nothing about it seemed very relevant. However, perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps it was connected to kindness. Which kind of made sense since the only two people who Sherlock knew had no interest in sex were him and his brother, and no one had ever equated the word kindness with them. He thought about this new theory for a little while and then decided it was probably rubbish.


	2. Questioning

John continued work with his phone on silent, worried that Sherlock was going to be harassing him. But when he left for home, he was disappointed not to see another text. He walked to the restaurant to pick up the food and then got a taxi the rest of the way. When he got home, he went up and hoped Sherlock had moved on from the morning's events. "Sherlock? I have dinner," he said. 

Sherlock was in his bedroom. He'd spent the rest of the afternoon online, reading about masturbation. He was quite surprised to find so much information -- it seemed some people were quite obsessed with it. He'd even watched a few videos, but they were pretty unpleasant. He wasn't interested in the habits of strangers. When he heard John come in, he cleared his browsing history, got up and moved to the kitchen. "Everything all right?" he asked as he sat down at the table and fiddled with the bag of food.

"Fine, yeah," John said, filling his plate with different things.

"Good," Sherlock said. He dumped some food onto his own plate and then took a few small bites. "Do you have plans for the evening?"

"Not really," John said. He poured himself some water and went to sit in his chair. "Do you?"

"No plans," Sherlock said. "Should we do something together -- you like films, we could watch a film or something."

"Okay, sure," John said. "After dinner?"

"All right," Sherlock said. "Whenever you want." They chatted about John's day and a possible client Sherlock had heard from. When he'd finished eating, Sherlock put his plate in the sink. "I'll do the washing up while you pick a film -- I don't know what exactly you like."

"Okay," John said. He looked through the films available and picked one.

Sherlock made two cups of tea and brought them into the sitting room. "Am I going to be entirely bored by this?" he asked, flopping down on to the sofa and putting his feet up on the table.

"I hope not, but I'm keeping my expectations low," John smiled over at him before starting the film.

Sherlock watched the first few minutes but then got bored. He went somewhere else in his head which meant when he came back, he wasn't sure what was happening and then that annoyed him that some stupid Hollywood film could make him feel confused. He let out an annoyed sigh and got up to make a fresh cup of tea.

John watched Sherlock get up, shifting in his seat a bit.

Sherlock brought back another mug and sat down again. He stared at the screen, trying to catch up to the storyline, but then he remembered he really didn't care anyway, and the main goal should be to minimise any irritation to John, as Sherlock hoped to get his help this evening. "Good pick," he mumbled and tried to make a little smile.

John glanced over at him. "You don't have to lie," he smiled softly. "I know you're bored. I don't know what you could sit through."

"I'm trying to get better -- one day I'll be able to sit all the way though," Sherlock said. "I'm getting used to you and your unusual hobbies. I don't think I've ever watched an entire film before I met you . . . now I get close, so that's something."

"Well, that's better than nothing, I suppose."

Sherlock managed to stay quiet and mostly not annoying for the remainder of the film. When the credits started to roll, he gave a little stretch and said, "Oh yeah, I was wondering, could I ask you something?"

"Sure," John nodded.

"Why exactly do you masturbate?" Sherlock asked casually.

"Oh my God. Sherlock, I'm not talking about that anymore." 

"Please, John," Sherlock said softly. "I'm just curious and I don't have anyone else to talk about this." He swallowed a little awkwardly. "Could you please just answer a few questions?"  


"A few?" John asked and glanced over at him. Was he really so clueless about these things? His face kind of indicated that perhaps he was. "All right . . . just a few," he sighed.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "I guess you don't have to answer anything you feel uncomfortable sharing, but any information would be greatly appreciated. So why do you do it?"

"Because it feels good," John said, keeping his eyes on his mug as he sipped his tea.

"Well, lots of things in the world feel good but you don't do them in the shower . . . what makes this different?"

"No, Sherlock. Nothing else feels like that," John said. "Except sex. And the shower is easiest. Less messy."

"You mean because of ejaculation?" Sherlock asked in a voice that clearly indicated he was taking mental notes.

John barely held back a cringe. "Yes," he said. "And the hormone release that go with it."

"But surely the hormones don't make the mess," Sherlock said. "Don't you worry that the energy you spent would be better spent elsewhere?"

"Nope," John said. "When I want it, that's exactly where I want to put my energy."

"But what makes you 'want it'?" Sherlock asked. For some reason, an image of John stomping around the flat like the Incredible Hulk (minus the green) popped into Sherlock's head. Why did Sherlock associate that picture with desire? "I mean, do you have any control over it or what?" 

"Of course I do. But I won't deny myself if I have the chance. I get aroused. If I can take care of it, I will. If not then . . . I try to ignore it until it goes away." 

"But --" Sherlock started and then thought for a moment. "But in the morning? I just . . . I just don't understand it, I guess. I always thought it was such a waste of time, but if you do it . . . I just want to understand, I guess."

"The time of day doesn't really matter. Sometimes you have a dream or a thought . . . sometimes you just want it, so you purposely think of something to get one. It's different," John shrugged. 

"You keep saying 'want it' -- how do you know? Is it something that happens in your head or in your body?"

"Both," John said. "If it starts in my head, my body follows along. If I'm just craving the release, I make it start."

"But how? I mean . . . obviously I don't have those urges in my body or brain. Can one just make them appear?" Sherlock asked. He was watching John closely, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Sherlock understood the basics of sex obviously, but he'd always imagined it must have something to do with the presence of another person. Now John was trying to say it could happen when he was by himself -- it was just confusing.

"Yes, if you think about something that arouses you. Some people don't get aroused easily, or at all, and that's fine too. Just think about what you like."

"I don't know, John . . ." Sherlock said. He thought about John's suggestion but still couldn't imagine actually doing it. "Anyway, thanks for talking to me about it -- I suppose I just wanted to understand it intellectually -- it just surprised me that you of all people would do that sort of thing."

"Why me of all people?"

"Because you're clever and I guess that seemed like an un-clever thing to do," Sherlock said honestly. "Perhaps I was wrong. As you know, since you've been around, I have -- on occasion -- learned a few new things from you. I'm just trying to be open-minded."

"Well, it's not about clever or not. It's about feelings, physical ones, mostly."

"I guess," Sherlock said. "Thanks for your help. I appreciate it."

John nodded. Okay. That hadn't been so bad. A bit embarrassing, but it was oddly easier to answer with Sherlock being genuinely curious instead of condescending about it all. John knew he wasn't interested in dating, but he didn't realise it had extended this far. 

"So you don't mind?" Sherlock asked.

"Don't mind what? Your questions? No," he said.

"Yes, and helping me learn," Sherlock said.

John looked over at him. "Learn what?" he asked.

"What it's like," Sherlock said. "I mean, if that's okay with you."

John narrowed his eyes. "I need you to be very clear, Sherlock. What are you asking for?"

"All I'm trying to say is thank you for allowing me to observe you so I can get firsthand knowledge of how it all works before I consider whether to try it myself," Sherlock said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

"No. Nope." John shook his head and stood up, taking his mug to the kitchen. "No way, Sherlock."

"John, that's not fair! You know people learn best from observation -- since you've been observing me work, you've become a lot less stupid than you used to be. Please," Sherlock said. "This is something you know about but I don't. Why are you being so selfish? You don't hear me complaining about helping you."

John barked out a laugh. "You. Are not. Watching me." He turned and faced Sherlock. "Find videos online. Hire a prostitute. I don't care. You're not watching me get off."

"You know I can't tolerate anybody but you!" Sherlock said. "What does it matter? I practically saw everything in the shower today -- I just didn't get a chance to ask questions. You're going to do it anyway. All I'm asking is just to let me observe."

"No," John said again. "This morning was an accident. You're not watching me."

"You're horrible," Sherlock said, standing up. "Fine. Just so you know, I am now fully committed to the idea that masturbation is stupid and anyone who does it is stupid and you do it and thus you are stupid. Happy?" He stomped off towards his room.

"You're so mature!" John shouted after him, turning everything off and going up to his room. He had done a lot of wild things for Sherlock and his experiments, but this was just too far.

Sherlock flopped down on to this bed. He felt a bit annoyed, but realised it was all a bit stupid -- he didn't really care about any of it, he was just bored. He'd gone this far in life without masturbating and he'd been fine. Just because John did it doesn't mean Sherlock should. John went out on dates and ate big meals and was unnecessarily polite -- Sherlock was never tempted to do any of those things. He was obviously just bored. As soon as he got a case, he'd be fine.

John got ready for bed, trying to think about what reason Sherlock could have for suddenly being interested. He fell asleep thinking about it and had odd dreams of Sherlock bugging the flat and spying on him.


	3. Offering

In the morning, Sherlock was up before John. He'd showered and got dressed and was online reading over some notes that Mycroft had sent through. It wasn't really a case, but his brother wanted him to do an experiment and send through the results as soon as possible. This was good news -- it would keep him busy for a day or two.

John got up and ready for work the next morning, pretending like nothing unusual had happened the night before as he made tea and toast for breakfast. He promised to get dinner on the way home again and told Sherlock to call if there was a case.

Sherlock got to work right away and lost himself in preparations. John brought home dinner, and Sherlock talked him through what he'd been working on. The next day they got up and left together because Sherlock realised he needed to pick up a few things to expand the experiment. By the end of the week, he was finished and sent the info to Mycroft, but kept clear notes for himself just in case the information might be relevant in the future.

That weekend as John headed out to go meet with Mike, he paused on his way to the door to look at Sherlock. "Are you sure you don't want to come? It'll just be Mike and me." John had asked already but he wanted to be sure Sherlock wouldn't feel left out.

"No thank you," Sherlock said, looking up from his desk. "I want to finish this and besides I don't want to go."

"Okay, no need to be mean," John said. "I shouldn't be too late. See you." He lifted his hand in a wave before leaving the flat to meet Mike. 

Sherlock watched him leave. He finished his notes and then made a cup of tea, flipping through the channels but finding nothing of much interest. He decided to take a hot bath. Although he took a book in with him, he ended up not reading at all. Instead he closed his eyes and went away for a little bit, waking up when he realised the water was now too cold.

John had a great time out. They ran into Lestrade and the three of them sat together, telling stories from work and trying to outshine each other with the wildest thing that ever happened to them. John won when he told the story of a heart surgery he was performing when the heart started up too early and they had to stop it a second time. There was nothing like holding a heart in your hands and suddenly it's beating again.

After a couple hours they left, all a little bit drunk and stumbling their way to different cabs. John paid and slowly made his way up to the flat, smiling softly as he thought of the stories they had shared.

Sherlock had considered going to bed, but since he had the flat to himself, he decided to stay out in the sitting room. He put the television on again, but spent some time reading online before shifting the laptop to the side and then getting comfortable, hogging the entire sofa. When he heard John's keys in the door, he realised he'd fallen asleep. He pushed himself off the cushion, rubbed his face, and then stood up to go make tea.

When John came in, Sherlock realised immediately that he was a little drunk -- not stupid drunk but too intoxicated to operate heavy machinery. "Have fun?" he asked as he poured the water.

John smiled wider. "Yes, it was a lot of fun. You should have come."

"Well, I had a laugh riot here on my own," Sherlock said. He carried in two cups of tea and sat down on the sofa, closing up his laptop. "Mike all right?" 

"Yeah, he's good. He's great," John said.

"Great, eh?" Sherlock asked. Yes, John was a bit drunk -- he always amped up his own answers when he was tipsy -- good quickly became great, fine turned into brilliant. "Well, that's excellent news." He took a sip of tea.

"Mhmm," John nodded. He sipped on his tea. "Tell me about your laugh riot. Or whatever you had here."

"Oh, I just had a little party -- hordes of people showed up, there was a live band, strippers, a lot of alcohol and drugs," Sherlock said, smiling. "The cops were here as well -- turns out Lord Lucan showed up, which was quite a surprise." He laughed at himself a little.  
  
John laughed loudly and shook his head. "You're lying," he said. 

"Possibly," Sherlock said. "I knew I couldn't compete with your excitement so I might have embellished a little."

"You should have come out," John said. "Bet you have some stories."

"I don't have any stories," Sherlock said. "Is that what you did all night -- sat around drinking and telling tall tales?"

"I won," John said. He opened his hand like he was holding a heart there, staring at it for a moment.

"Was it all about 'love' and that rubbish?" Sherlock asked. "Was anything you said true at all?"

"It was gory stories," John said. He moved his fingers, twitching them like a pumping heart before dropping his hand again and smiling.  
  
"I have gory stories," Sherlock said. "If you ever need a good time, you don't need to go out and get drunk. I've got gory here at home."

"You should have come. You might've won," John said. 

"What was the prize?"

"Gloating," John said.

"Immature," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "I'm glad I didn't go."

John flicked him off and then laughed again, sipping on his tea.

"Why do you always like going out so much?" Sherlock asked. "Whenever you have a free night, you always go out. I'm not complaining . . . it's fine. I was just curious, I guess."  
  
"I don't know. It's fun. And easier to see my friends," he said.

"I thought we were friends," Sherlock said.

"Of course we are."

"All right then," Sherlock said, standing up.

"Are you going to bed?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "Just going to get more tea. Settle down . . you went all panicked there. Are you going to be sick or something, do you need me to look after you?"

John shook his head. "I don't need to be taken care of, I'm not that drunk," he said. 

"All right, don't be so tetchy," Sherlock said. "I was only offering my help -- that's what friends do, right? You help me, I help you. If I've got it wrong, forget I mentioned it. Do you want me to go to bed? I can take my tea in there if that's what you want."

"No, you don't have to leave."

"Fine, I won't," Sherlock said. He moved back and got John's mug, filling them both and coming back to the sofa. "So . . . what do you want to talk about then?"

John shrugged. "I saw Greg," he said. "He had a stupid story. That's why he didn't win."

"What was it?" Sherlock asked. "And what was your story that was so good? Or do I only get to hear if I go out with you lot?"

"I don't know. Some nonsense about someone getting his hand shot through." John held his hand up again. "I held a heart that started beating in my hands."

"Oh you're a big man, aren't you?" Sherlock said. "Although . . . that is pretty good. And there was no prize besides the glory?"

John shook his head. "That's a good enough prize."

"Boring," Sherlock said. "At least at my party we had prizes -- Lord Lucan won a trophy for hide and seek." He laughed at himself a little.

John grinned. "Listen to you, funny man."

"I am being quite funny this evening," Sherlock said. "You should have heard me at the party. Everyone was in stitches."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll stay in next time," he said. 

"I hired the strippers with you in mind, but you missed them," Sherlock said. "Once again, you ignore my attempt to help."

"Help with what?" John asked. He was feeling a bit sleepy now. 

"Help you get lucky with the ladies," Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes. "Oh please, you always send them away."

"I have never once sent a stripper away," Sherlock said, mock offended.

John laughed loudly. "I meant my dates."

"That's because the ones you choose are idiots," Sherlock said. "Obviously. I don't know anything about these matters, but I do know they're idiots."

"You don't know that. You don't give them a chance," he said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You've met me, right?" he said. "You know I'm always right -- and the evidence is there. You can't deny that."

"You could let me have fun," he said. 

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said. "I don't stop you doing anything."

"You stop my dates which could lead to other things." John closed his eyes and tipped his head back. 

"You want to have sex with idiots?" Sherlock asked. "Don't be stupid."

"I want sex," John said simply.

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't you think that's . . . a bit pathetic?"

John shrugged. "It feels good. Other people want to feel good, so why not?"

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I?"

"You haven't ever?" he asked. 

"Not really," Sherlock said. "I mean, no."

"Oh. Um, right. Well . . . never mind that," John said absently.

"Ironically, the fact that I have been denied that pleasure is basically your fault, which is what you were claiming I was doing to you and the idiots," Sherlock said.

"What? How is it my fault?" John asked surprised.

"Because I was trying to learn and you said no," Sherlock explained.

John's brow furrowed. "No. You wanted to watch me -- that's not learning. I'll answer whatever you want."

"Anything?" Sherlock asked.

"Just questions," John said, letting his head rest on his chair.

"Let me think . . . could you tell me how you learned to ride a bike?" Sherlock asked.

John pulled a face. "I don't know. My mum helped, I think. I saw Harry doing it and when she got a new bike, I got her old bike."

"So you didn't learn by asking a bunch of questions? Asking questions didn't teach you how to do something you've never done?"

John opened his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head. "You -- that's not the same. You can easily do this on your own."

"And yet I haven't for an entire lifetime. . ." Sherlock mused. "It's fine, John. Obviously you're too uptight about it, that's fine. I don't have to do it. I don't have to know something that is apparently such a good feeling you'll consider doing it with idiots . . . I've survived this long without it. I don't suppose there's any reason to start just because my best friend -- whom I trust -- won't shut up about how great it is yet won't help me at all. . . it's fine," Sherlock said, standing up. Although he was quite curious, this was his last attempt -- if John didn't fall for the guilt trip and the threat of leaving, Sherlock knew he wouldn't change his mind.

"It's just uncomfortable," John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's wrist. "But if you really want to, I can tell you how or we can watch something," he mumbled. He felt bad -- sad and heavy all of a sudden.

"I don't understand why it's uncomfortable. I've watched you do other things you enjoy -- you've made me watch you eat a million times. Besides you do that stuff with idiots . . . why do they get to see but your best friend can't?" Sherlock asked. He took a sip of tea before quietly adding, "Besides I have watched things, John, and they're stupid and they're strangers. I don't want to watch sex, I just want to see how masturbation is done by normal people."

"It's just . . ." John mumbled. The alcohol was affecting his thinking more than it would have been normally. "Having sex with someone is different than just letting someone watch that."

"But idiots, John? Idiots who are basically strangers -- you share it with them but not me, your best friend?" Sherlock asked. Then he thought for a moment. "Is it because I don't want to do anything -- you only let people see if you get something out of it?"

"It's because it's private -- it's not a show," he sighed. "I guess I could try to do it for you -- to you, I mean." He looked at Sherlock, trying to call his bluff. "I could show you on you."

"But John, that's like sex and I-I don't . . . I don't know . . ." Sherlock stuttered. He wasn't quite sure why John was saying this. Did John want to have sex with Sherlock? "I just wanted to learn how to do it to myself since you said it was so great . . . I don't want . . ." He wasn't quite sure what else to say.

"Well, hands on, right? If you get off, you'll know what the big deal is. And you'll know how to do it," John said.

"That's quite generous, John, really, I appreciate it," Sherlock said, trying to maintain a calm voice. "But as you know, it's all about observation for me. I'd just like to be able to observe, ask a few questions, you know, just gather some information. Once I have that, I'll decide whether or not to try it, and if I do, I'm sure I'll be able to take it from there."

John let go of Sherlock's wrist, rubbing his face hard. "I -- fine. Just . . . fine, I'll do it."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "And could I just clarify that all of this stays between us? Obviously, I trust you and you can trust me, but I just wanted to clarify because this involves me knowing nothing and you knowing all, which is not my favourite situation." He smiled a bit stupidly.


	4. Observing

"Fine. Are you doing it here or what?" Sherlock asked. He realised he was still smiling stupidly so he tried to make a neutral face.

"No. My room," John said, standing and leading the way up the stairs. He wasn't quite sure how Sherlock had got him to agree to this.

"All right," Sherlock said, standing up, walking behind John. "Not the shower?"

"No," John said. "I want to be comfortable -- this will be awkward enough."

"I'll try not to make it any more awkward," Sherlock said. "But I should also remind you that you've met me and making things awkward is kind of what I do." 

"What are you trying to learn, exactly?"

"If it's worth doing," Sherlock said, sitting down and then standing up again, not knowing really what to do. "I always assumed it wasn't but if you do it . . . I trust you so maybe I should. But I've got no idea how really."

"I told you how. I'm not telling you what I think about," John warned. "Not specifics."

"You can feel free to pass on any question I ask," Sherlock said. "I won't know for sure what information I'll be needing, but this isn't a police interrogation. Are we keeping the lights on?"

"Do we have to?" John asked.

"Of course not," Sherlock said. He turned to look over at John. "Listen, I know I don't understand why this seems like a big deal to you but I can see it does. I really do appreciate it. I don't know anything about any of this so you just take it from here, okay? Whatever you normally do . . . just tell me where I should sit, otherwise, lights on, lights off -- whatever works for you."

"Just . . . sit on the bed," John said. He switched off the overhead light but turned on the lamp, stripping to his briefs and climbing into bed properly.

Sherlock sat down. He was facing away from John so he turned and brought his legs up onto the bed, sitting awkwardly. "Do you have to be 'in the mood' or can you just do it no matter what?" he asked quietly, staring a bit forward into space.

"I have to get in the mood. I'll think of stuff, and start touching, and it'll happen," John explained. He leaned back comfortably, closing his eyes and palming himself.

"Okay," Sherlock whispered. He wasn't quite sure why he was whispering -- John wasn't -- but he kept his voice quiet. "You don't have to say specifics but could I just ask, is it always sex-related things you think about? Past experiences or fantasies or might you just be thinking about other things you find interesting, things that have nothing to do with sex?"

"It's always sex-related," John said. "Just thinking about stuff I like done to me."

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "Stuff that has been done or you wish would be done?"

"Both. I just let my mind wander," he murmured, palming harder, stroking through his pants.

"But it's always something being done to you . . . you never think about what you've done . . . to someone else, I guess I mean?"

"Sometimes, but not often. There's no one else here, so I make it just about me," John admitted.

"Selfish, but fine, I appreciate your honesty," Sherlock said. He moved his eyes a little, trying not to move his head, so he could see what John's hand was doing. It just looked like he was massaging the area. It didn't seem all that complicated.

"Of course it's selfish, I'm alone." John pushed his pants out of the way and gripped his cock, stroking steadily.

Sherlock saw John's erection and flicked his eyes away, while still keeping his head still. "Are you almost done then?" he asked quietly.

"No," John said. He took a deep breath and moved his hand a bit faster, his thumb rubbing over the tip. "I like to take my time. Feels better."

"Okay," Sherlock said a bit stupidly. He was quiet for a moment, listening to John's breathing changing. He glanced over and saw John's moving in a slightly different way. "Does it . . . hurt at all?"

"No," John said, his voice breathless, half moaning. "It's good . . . it feels good. . ."

"Just there? I mean, is it just . . . down there that feels good? Your breathing's changed -- does it affect other places as well?" Sherlock asked. He kind of wished he could take notes but was pretty sure John would not find that acceptable.

"It's all over," he said, shifting, writhing a bit as he got closer. His breathing became even more shallow.

"Do you feel . . . sexy?" Sherlock asked. "Is this what 'sexy' is supposed to be?" 

"Sexy is what I'm seeing . . . maybe it's what my partner would think. I feel . . . hot. Good . . ." John bit his lip and focused before he let go and came in his hand, moaning and gasping quietly.

Sherlock turned his head now and just watched as John finished. He realised he was staring at John's cock so he closed his eyes for a moment. "Is that it then?" he whispered.

John slowed his hand and let go, panting softly as he straightened his pants again. "That's it."

"And now how do you feel?"

"Satisfied," John said, opening his eyes.

"And what you were doing . . . how did you know to do it that way?" Sherlock asked.

"It felt good. I just did what felt good," John said.

"And when someone else is here . . . that's what they do to you?" Sherlock asked and then kind of wished he hadn't. Somehow that seemed like a different kind of question and for a second he wondered if he really wanted to know the answer.

"They do a lot more than that. We both do," John said.

"But that plays some kind of role in it all?"

"What? Touching my cock? Yeah."

"Okay, you don't have to be vulgar about it," Sherlock said. "And the little noises you were making . . . that's normal?"

"Sorry, scientist. Do you prefer penis?" John smiled. "The noises are usually more."

Sherlock ignored John's first comment. "Was there anything else that you usually do that you didn't do tonight?" he asked.

John glanced at the bedside table drawer, but John didn't think Sherlock needed all that. "Yeah, that's pretty much it," he said.

Sherlock had a feeling that wasn't quite true, but he didn't push it. "All right," he said. "I guess I've got the basics. Do you think this is something I should try then? Be honest."

"If you want to, then yes," John said. "It's healthy and normal and I don't see any reason not to try if you're curious."

"I'll think about it," Sherlock said, shifting a little. "Well, thanks. I hope I didn't make it too awkward. I don't have any more questions and we never have to talk about this again." He stood up. "Good night, John. Thanks again." He looked over at him and gave a little smile before he left and went downstairs to his own bedroom.

John signed when Sherlock left, shifting to lay down properly. This had been a very strange night.

Sherlock lay down on his bed. He was thinking about what he'd just seen. He still wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting, but he thought it'd be something more than that. John said it felt sexy, but Sherlock was still a bit confused on what sexy really meant. What was Sherlock supposed to think of to get him in the mood -- he didn't have any memories to use. Watching John didn't necessarily compel Sherlock to start masturbating, but at least he knew a little bit more than he did before.


	5. Experimenting

John woke the next morning and got ready for work, his mind drifting to the night before. He hoped Sherlock was right about them not having to talk about it again. He went down and made tea, then put toast in.

When Sherlock heard John in the kitchen, he stretched and then got out of bed. He slipped his dressing gown on and went out. "No toast for me," he said, pouring himself a cup of tea and moving over to his desk.

"I wasn't making you any toast," John said.

Sherlock frowned and took a sip of tea before opening his laptop to check his email. "Possible case," he mumbled as he read through an email from a potential client.

"Anything interesting?"

"Umm . . ." Sherlock said, trying to reading quickly. "Not really . . . but we should take it, I need something to do. It looks like it's just a 'I know my wife is cheating but rather than accept it and move on, I'd like to hire you to buy me more time'. I can get started today while you're at work. All right?"

"Yeah," John agreed. "Call me if it gets interesting, okay?"

"Will do," Sherlock said. "You working all day or what?"

"Just until five, maybe a bit earlier if it's not busy."

"All right then," Sherlock said. He was already typing a response to the client to arrange a time to meet as John left, eating his toast on the way.

At the flat, Sherlock finished his emails and then made another cup of tea. He didn't have to get to work immediately, so he lay down on the sofa, and his mind drifted to last night. He wondered if perhaps he should give it a try while things were fresh in his mind. He tried to get comfortable on the cushions, opening his dressing gown a little. He took a deep breath before slipping his hand inside his pajama bottoms. He held himself and started moving his hand like John had. He closed his eyes then opened them and then closed them again, all the while continuing to move his hand. Nothing seemed to be happening. His breath didn't change, his body didn't feel hot, and his cock didn't even get hard. This wasn't making him feel good at all; it was making him feel a bit stupid actually. He pulled out his hand, sat up, and moved over to his desk, deciding to just give up on the masturbation experiment. He opened his computer and started working on the case.

John's work was busier than he would have liked, but it was good to keep his mind and body busy. He left a little after five, hurrying to get home again.

Sherlock looked up from his laptop when John came in. "You said you'd be home by five. It's nearly six," he said, waving his empty mug to let John know to make some tea for him as well.

"I said if it wasn't busy," John said, hanging his coat and moving into the kitchen.

"Well . . . fine," Sherlock said, getting up and joining him. "I just was looking forward to your getting home, I guess."

"Oh. Did something happen with the case?"

"A bit," Sherlock said, making some tea and taking it into the sitting room. He set his mug on the table and then brought his laptop to the sofa. "It's not very exciting but a little more interesting than I'd thought. Have you got time to listen?"

"Of course," John said, coming in to pour fresh water for Sherlock before sitting down.

Sherlock handed his laptop to John. "Read over it all," Sherlock said. "I do think it's an affair but I think the woman might be involved in some other dodgy business as well."  
  
John took the computer and read over the case, nodding slowly as he did. "It does sound a bit . . . off. You'll figure it out," he said.

"It's a bit boring really, but we've got nothing else so it's better than nothing," Sherlock said, leaning back a bit to get comfortable. "Have you got something for dinner or do you want to order in?" 

"Um, let's order in. I don't fancy the leftovers -- I'll take them for lunch tomorrow."

"All right," Sherlock said. He rolled off the sofa and placed the order. After dinner, he worked for a little bit on the case and then they watched another film -- with Sherlock staying focused for all of twenty minutes this time before he started fussing.

The next few days consisted of the same -- John spending time at the surgery with only minor interruptions from Sherlock's texts, Sherlock running about London trying to find information that would make that guy's wife's affair a bit more interesting, and not much of anything in the evenings.

When John was getting ready for work on Friday, Sherlock said, "Look, this case should be wrapped up today -- want to go out for dinner tonight to mark the end of it all?"

"Sorry, I have a date, actually," John said. "Maybe over the weekend?"

"Right, sure, maybe tomorrow or something," Sherlock said. He packed up his own things and headed out to get finish the investigation.

John went to work and stopped at home before heading out for his date. He was surprised Sherlock was still out and hoped he'd be all right on his own. This date had promise, and he didn't want Sherlock interrupting it with his usual pouting.

When Sherlock got back, he was a bit disappointed to see that John had already gone. He did finish the case and had a nice cheque in his pocket, but it felt a bit anticlimactic on his own. He had a cup of tea and flipped through the channels, but that was a bit boring. He decided to take a hot bath. He turned on the water and then dug around the kitchen looking for a bottle of wine someone had given them. He opened it, poured a glass, and took it into the bathroom with him, sinking slowly into the hot water.

When he got out of the bath, he slipped his dressing gown around him and poured himself another glass, which he took into the bedroom. He lay down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. It was a bit boring without John around. He thought about John for a few moments and then remembered the whole masturbation question. He wondered if he should maybe try it again. He pulled down the covers and got under them, before untying his dressing gown and opening it up. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what John had done and how it'd been different to what he'd done the other day. He moved his hand down his body and held himself. He kind of massaged it a bit like John had -- it didn't hurt to do it, but he wasn't really feeling good nor was it getting hard. John had said that thinking about sex things helped his body get into the mood, but Sherlock didn't have any memories to call up. He thought about the videos but those were decidedly not sexy. He wished he could be like John and just be normal about all this. All John had to do was think and touch and then he felt good. Sherlock wished he could be like John. John was so good.

And then suddenly it seemed to be working a bit.

He was getting hard and he realised what John had said was true -- he could feel it in his whole body. He was getting warm, and his heart rate changed. His hand moved a little faster, like John's had, and the minute that thought crossed Sherlock's mind, he had another burst of good feelings. Suddenly his hand was just moving -- he wasn't even thinking about precisely what it should be doing -- it was moving and his hips were moving as well and then he came.  
  
Just like that. Sherlock Holmes had just successfully masturbated for the very first time.

After the stroll in the park John offered to walk his date home, but she declined and decided on a cab instead. They made plans to meet again sometime next week, and after promising to call, John shut the cab door and watched her go. He pulled out his phone and checked it, brows raised in surprise. Not a single message from Sherlock. He turned towards home and started walking that way.

Sherlock lay there for a few moments, feeling a bit . . . he didn't even know the word for it. It had felt good, really good actually, but right at this moment, he felt like his brain was not functioning at all. Things slowly began to go back to normal and he pulled the covers back, reaching for some tissue to clean up his belly. He slowly got up and put on his pajamas. He wrapped his dressing gown around him again and went to the bathroom to wash his face. He got his wine glass and poured himself a little more, but he also put the kettle on for a cup of tea. He glanced at the clock, wondering if that meant John's date was a success. If that meant John was going to have sex with her.

Sherlock decided he didn't like that idea at all. He wasn't sure why and wasn't in the mood to figure it out, but he didn't like that idea at all.

Half hour later John was climbing the steps up to the flat, hanging his jacket and needing some tea. He went into the kitchen to check if the kettle was hot, noticing the bottle of wine.

Sherlock was back in his room when he heard John come in. He got up, carrying both his mug and glass out into the kitchen. "Good night?" he asked, moving to top up his glass. He put his empty mug in the sink.

"Yes. Looks like you're having one as well," he said.

"I was celebrating, I guess," Sherlock said, taking his glass over to the sofa. "It wasn't quite as good without you here, but please do not take that to mean I am trying to guilt trip you because I'm not. You have every right to ignore your friend's successes, if that's the kind of person you are. I'm not judging." He took a sip of wine.

John rolled his eyes and brought his mug out to his chair. "So you solved it all, then?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "I was right about her but it was only a little embezzling. Nothing interesting like murder. Regardless . . . I left the cheque on the desk."

"Okay, great. I take it to the bank on Monday," John said.

"So, you off to bed then?" Sherlock asked. "Feeling good, satisfied, what?"

"I will after my tea, I think. I feel fine," John said. He looked over at Sherlock. "Why?"

"No reason," Sherlock said. "I think I'll stay up a while. You do whatever you normally do after."

John narrowed his eyes a bit, sure that Sherlock was trying to ask him something without actually asking it. "Right, I will," he said, going back to enjoying his tea.

"All right," Sherlock said. He took a sip of wine. "I opened some wine," he said randomly.

"I saw, you've had quite a bit of the bottle. Do you feel okay?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Sherlock said. "I wasn't really trying to get drunk, but I suppose I am a little. Or relaxed, I guess, more so than drunk. Relaxed."

"Well, that's good," John said. "I'm glad you've had a nice night."

"Good, everyone is glad that everyone had a good time. And we're ending our good times with this fascinating conversation," Sherlock said. "Have you suddenly gone boring or something?" He realised he felt a little annoyed at John for some reason, but at the same time he was aware that he was smiling and wasn't quite sure why.

"What do you mean?" John asked, confused and slightly offended.

"I mean, this conversation is boring -- all I wanted all night is for you to come home and now we're not even talking about anything," Sherlock said. "I don't know why you insisted on going out tonight and why you have to come back and just try to make me feel bad." He immediately put the glass to his mouth. His mouth seemed to be releasing words without checking with his brain first.

"How did I make you feel bad?" John stammered in confusion. "All I did was go out -- you knew I had a date! And I said I would go out with you tomorrow to celebrate."

"I just . . . I don't know," Sherlock said quietly. "I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe I'm tired." He set his glass down. "I guess I should tell you . . . I masturbated."

John opened his mouth and then closed it, trying very hard not to convey anything with his face. He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. He didn't know what this had to do with John hurting his feelings, or whatever. He took a breath. "Oh. And did you like it?" he asked, trying to sound normal.

"I don't know, I thought I did, but it seems to have made me angry at you for some reason," Sherlock said. He stood and poured the rest of his wine down the sink and put the kettle on.

"Oh. Why? I don't understand. Was it not what you wanted? I didn't make you do it, you know."

"Well first of all, yes, you did kind of make me do it, and secondly, I don't know why I'm irritated," Sherlock said. "Maybe I had a bad reaction or something? Could that happen?"

"No, not unless you hurt yourself and if you were hurting yourself, I would assume you'd have had the sense to stop. Besides, I didn't force you to do anything, you're the one who brought it up and insisted you watch me. It was all you."

"It was not," Sherlock said. "I never even cared about it until you started doing it every morning. None of this was about me. It was all about you." He came back with his mug. "I didn't hurt myself," he said quietly. "I'm pretty sure I did it right."

"I didn't ask you to watch me. Or to copy my habits," John pointed out.

"I did copy you. I did it just like you did and I even thought about you so you have no one to blame if it turns out this is what masturbation does to me," Sherlock said, like he had just proven his point.

John was about to argue when his mouth snapped shut. "You -- why did you think of me?" he asked softly.

"Because what else would I think about? I don't have memories like you do," Sherlock explained. "I had to think of something. You said so."

"They don't have to be memories! It could be anything that turns you on!"

"Well, I don't know what that means . . . I don't have anything that turns me on. Except rubbing my penis like you taught me how to do."

"Right, but it's what your brain . . . never mind. It's fine," John said, still unsure what to say about any of this. "Just -- I'm glad you figured it out."

"Well now I'm worried . . . after you did it, you seemed pleasantly calm. It appears to have made me aggressive. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. It doesn't usually do that. Maybe you didn't like it," John offered.

"But I did like it," Sherlock said. "I mean . . . I felt good, like you said. I did -- I felt warm and just . . . good. It wasn't until you got home that I got aggravated."

"Right," John said. "Maybe because of the date? That always gets you going," he said.

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "I didn't want you to go, if I'm honest."

"You never want me to go," John pointed out.

"True," Sherlock said. "But it felt different tonight," he added more quietly.

John looked up at him again. "How come?" he asked gently.

"Because I just wanted you to be here," Sherlock said. "Don't ask me why. That's the best I can do, all right?"

"Here? Or in your room?" John asked, keeping his voice soft, still gazing at him.

"Just wherever I was, I guess," Sherlock said. "Here or in my room . . . whatever you would've wanted."

John fiddled with his fingers a bit, knowing he was going into dangerous territory. He was thinking about Sherlock getting off, and Sherlock had been thinking about him while getting off -- did Sherlock moan his name? John swallowed hard. "What would you have wanted?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "Because I was there when you did, it seemed like you should be there when I did." He felt a bit embarrassed, but it was kind of how he felt.

"Oh," John murmured. Okay, so it was all scientific stuff still. He didn't know any better. "Well, it's good that it felt good. Glad I could help, I guess," he said. After a second, he stood and went to dump his lukewarm tea, washing the mug. 

"Do you think I should try it again . . . I mean, with you there? Just to see if I get agitated again?" For some reason, all of a sudden, Sherlock really, really wanted John to say yes.

John's hands paused and he stared down at the soapy mug. Sherlock had watched him, why shouldn't he watch Sherlock? He swallowed hard and realised he was nodding even though Sherlock couldn't see him. "Um . .. if you think that will help," he said. "I would, I mean, to help . . . if you wanted."

"If you insist," Sherlock said, heading to his room. He quickly got into the bed and lay flat, waiting.

John nearly dropped the mug as he hurried into Sherlock's room.


	6. Learning

"Just lay down like I did in your room," Sherlock said. He pulled open his dressing gown and pushed his pajama bottoms down just a bit. He rested his hand on his hip. "Are you going to talk or ask questions or anything or just be silent or what?"

John sat on the bed. "I'll just be silent," he said.

"Are you going to be thinking about sexy things?" Sherlock asked. He let his fingers curl around his cock.

John's eyes fixed on Sherlock's hand, tracing his cock before shrugging. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice thick.

"Do you want to say?" Sherlock whispered.

John licked his lips. "I -- no. No, because now I'm thinking about you," he mumbled.

"I'm thinking about you too, John," Sherlock whispered, because he was as he started to move his hand on himself. "I'm thinking about what you let me watch and I think that's what I think is sexy . . . I'm sorry."

"It's okay," John said quietly, unable to look away. He didn't add anything else because his mind was too busy showing him all kinds of things they could be doing. God, Sherlock was sexy. How had he never noticed before?

"I wonder what would have happened if I had said yes," Sherlock exhaled, his hand now moving steadily.

"Said yes to what?" John asked softly.

"When you said you would do it for me," Sherlock said. He was thinking about that now, thinking about it being John's hand rather than his own.

John looked up at Sherlock's face, biting his lip. He shifted very slowly. He slid his hand under the covers and tugged Sherlock's hand away, wrapping his own around Sherlock's cock. "Like this?" he whispered, moving his hand slowly.

Sherlock exhaled loudly -- it felt too good and also a little confusing and immediately he came, spraying John's hand and the sheet covering him. "Oh god," he moaned lightly, bringing his hand up to cover his face. "I'm sorry . . ." 

"Shh," John murmured. "It's okay." He stroked until Sherlock was finished, lightly pulling his hand away and watching Sherlock try to catch his breath.

"Was that . . . why did that happen? Maybe I shouldn't be doing it, maybe it doesn't work right for me . . ." Sherlock rambled a bit stupidly.

"It was good, Sherlock. You were perfect," John reassured him. "It's new. That's normal."

"I feel . . . embarrassed, I guess," Sherlock admitted. "It was so different when you did it . . . I should've paid attention so I can do it better next time but I wasn't thinking . .. "

"Sherlock, you did fine. It was perfect," he said. "It's not the same for everyone."

Sherlock lay there quietly for a moment. He realised his stomach hurt a little. "John," he said quietly. "Did you do that earlier . . . on your date?"

John looked up at Sherlock's face. He shook his head. "No I didn't," he said softly.

"I know it's not my business . .. but I didn't want you to," Sherlock said. "I guess I thought if you wanted to . . . you could just do it here, you know, like before."  

"With you?" John asked.

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "I mean if you wanted to . . . it could help me learn more." His voice sounded a little funny which he knew meant that he wasn't being entirely honest, but he hoped John wouldn't notice.        

"And if it wasn't for learning?" John asked, swallowing hard.

"I don't know," Sherlock mumbled. "I feel like -- I just feel like I like it, I like that it's just us, I mean, for me . . . it's just you."  

John nodded. "Okay," he said. "We . . . it can be just us and we can figure out what that means later."

Sherlock shifted a little. "Are you going to do it now?"    

John glanced down at the bulge in his trousers. "Yeah, I can," he said. 

"Show me how to make it last longer," Sherlock said softly.      

"That comes with time," John said. He shifted to get more comfortable against the headboard. "Controlling it." He pushed his trousers off and rubbed through his pants. 

Sherlock watched John's face first. Then he looked down at John's hand, watching its movement. Suddenly he realised just how close they were, with his body next to John's. But he didn't move away. In fast, he pushed himself up a little so he could see better.        

John looked over at Sherlock, watching his face as he pushed his pants down and gripped his cock properly. 

Sherlock put his hand by John's hip. "Can I try doing it on you?" he asked. "Will you show me how you do it, but with my hand so I know?"    

John reached out and took Sherlock's hand, bringing it to his cock and covering it with his own. He started the movement again. "Just like that," he moaned lightly.

John's felt different, which Sherlock realised immediately should not have come as any surprise. Their hands were moving slowly. Despite the fact that he knew they were doing something quite sexual, Sherlock knew he also really just liked the feeling of John's hand around his. "Does it feel good?" he asked in a whisper.

John's head tipped back against the headboard. "Yes," he moaned again.

"Could I . . . do something else you like?" Sherlock whispered again.

"What do you mean?" John asked, swallowing back another moan.

"Like . . . kiss?"

John held Sherlock's gaze. "Okay," he whispered.

"I just thought I could try it once," Sherlock said. "And you could show me what I'm doing wrong." He shifted his body again, moving even closer to John. His hand was still moving, and he leaned over and softly kissed John's neck. Then he nuzzled it a few times before realising what he was doing so he pulled his head back. "Was that okay?"  
  
John shivered lightly and nodded. "Very good," he moaned breathlessly.

"Could I do it on your mouth?" Sherlock said. "You'll have to turn your head."  
  
John turned his head to the side, meeting Sherlock's eyes which were already so very close. "Please," he murmured.

Sherlock moved his head towards John's, crashing a bit into his mouth, kissing him. He felt John's hand speed up a bit as he kept kissing him.

John licked out, deepening the kiss.

Sherlock parted his lips a little, touching his tongue to John's. "It's still all okay?" he asked tentatively.

John nodded, using his free hand to tug him close for another kiss.

Sherlock tried to stop thinking about what he was doing and just did it instead. The kisses were a little sloppy, but they felt good and he could feel he was getting an erection again. He didn't know if he should tell John or not. "What else . . .?" he asked in between kisses.

"Just this for now," John breathed. "I'm close," he added, moving their hands faster.

"Everything you do is sexy . . . I never knew but now I do," Sherlock mumbled, continuing to kiss him. Both of their bodies were moving on the bed.

John squeezed his eyes shut and let go, coming over his belly and both of their hands as he panted and moaned against Sherlock's mouth.

"John," Sherlock moaned. He said the name again. He was pushing against John's hip and then he kind of crawled on top of him a bit. "Let's do more . . ." he said, rutting against him.

"Sherlock," John gasped, tugging Sherlock into his lap properly.

"I just need to . . . press against you," Sherlock basically grunted and he thrust his hips in a slow rhythm. "Is this okay . . . is it wrong?"

"It's bloody perfect," John groaned, moving his hands to get Sherlock's cock out again.

"God, John," Sherlock moaned, closing his eyes as he dropped his head to John's neck. "It feels so good, you're so sexy, everything is . . . feels good and all the time and you and . . ." he mumbled, barely making any sense.

"I know, love," John murmured. He gripped his cock and stroked, leaning up to kiss Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock kissed John again and then he called out loudly, thrusting hard against John's hand and hips, coming over him. His body melted onto John's, and he slid slowly to the side. "My heart's beating so fast," he exhaled.

John groaned as he watched Sherlock and turned to face him. "I know," he said.

Sherlock pulled off his dressing gown and tried to wipe them both up a bit. He threw it down on to the floor and lay back on the bed. "It's going to make me sad now," he said softly. "When you do that with someone else, I mean . . ."

John reached over and took his hand, lacing their fingers. "Sherlock, we agreed before we did all of this that I wouldn't. It would be just us."

"That was before . . . when I was learning," Sherlock said. "I mean, all the time. I don't want you to go be with them . . ."

"I didn't mean only when you were learning. I said I wanted this to be ours, just ours," John said.

"It's always about you," Sherlock said. "Because you're like no other."

John leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Sherlock lay back flat on the bed. "I guess I must like all this business . . . who'd have guessed?" He turned his head and smiled at John.

John smiled at him. "And we've only scratched the surface," he said.

"Should I be worried?" Sherlock asked, still smiling quite stupidly.

"No, you should be excited," he grinned.

"I'll try," Sherlock said. "I've liked all of it so far," Sherlock said. "Especially the kissing. . . surprising, I suppose."

John smiled. "I like that a lot too."

"Thanks for helping me, John," Sherlock said, leaning over to give him a kiss. "You have definitely satisfied my curiosity."


End file.
